


A Christmas Miracle

by PenguinofProse



Series: Penguin's festive fics [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt Bellamy, Snow, Snuggling for warmth, They're stuck in a cave together and it's adorable, festive fluff, winter weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy finds himself in difficulties in the forest in winter.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Penguin's festive fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024797
Comments: 18
Kudos: 116





	A Christmas Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fic set in the time that Clarke is away from Arkadia after Mount Weather. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing it. Happy reading!

Bellamy doesn't believe in miracles.

He doesn't believe in answered prayers, or lucky breaks, or that there is _ever_ gold at the end of the rainbow. He doesn't believe in much that's good at all, really. Why would he? Life has conspired to throw nothing but tragedy his way.

He used to believe in his mother. Of course he did – doesn't every little boy want to believe in his mother? But then she set him up for failure, and then she went and got floated for her trouble, and he's never quite forgiven either her or himself for that. And he used to believe in Clarke, that she would always be steady and dependable and good by his side. But then she walked away and left him after the mountain, made a mockery of the faith he placed in her.

So now he doesn't believe in miracles at all. And that's fine.

It's just that he knows he needs a miracle if he's going to survive _this_.

It's his own stupid fault for going off hunting alone. He's prepared to acknowledge that he's been getting a bit reckless, since Clarke left. And so it serves him right that he's now bleeding out in a snowdrift, curled next to the still-warm body of the boar that gored his thigh. So yes, he's probably going to die here. He's probably going to bleed to death, or freeze to death, and to be honest he's pretty resigned to that, right now.

The only thing that could save him now would be a miracle.

This used to be a time for miracles, and for light and hope and wholeness. He knows that, because he's a bit of a nerd when it comes to the culture and history of Earth before the bombs. This used to be Christmas Eve, and before that this time of year hosted many pagan and Roman festivals. And there were holy seasons around now for lots of other religions, too, besides the Christianity that used to be so common in this part of the world.

He snorts. Figures he'd spend his dying moments wrapped up in the stories of people long dead. He's a sad case, isn't he? What impact will he really leave behind when he goes? Will anyone even remember him, besides his sister?

Will Clarke even notice he's gone?

He stirs himself slightly, tries to shuffle closer to the boar carcass. Some instinct tells him to do that, urges him not to go down without a fight. He knows he'll survive longer if he can share some of the body's warmth, however gross that might be.

He can't really shuffle though. His leg is bleeding badly, and it _hurts,_ damn it.

His eyelids are growing heavy. He knows he shouldn't shut his eyes. Shutting his eyes will be the end, he's pretty sure.

But he's just so tired. He's tired of bleeding, tired of hurting. And he's tired of this sorry, cold, hopeless life.

…...

Bellamy wakes up warm. That surprises him. Is this heaven? He was so convinced he was destined for hell.

He shifts a little, and his thigh screams in pain. Aha. Maybe it is hell after all.

"Bellamy. Lie still."

He freezes – not because of the order to lie still, but because he knows that voice. That's Clarke. He's certain of it. That's Clarke's soft voice telling him firmly yet almost _tenderly_ to lie still.

This must be hell. That decides it. That's the only possible explanation for why he's suddenly hearing the woman who left him act like she still cares.

"Bellamy. Bellamy, are you hearing me?"

He groans a bit. His leg hurts and he's gone to hell. He thinks that's a pretty valid reason for groaning.

"Hey. You're OK. You're OK. I know it hurts, but you're going to be OK."

He wonders whether she's trying to convince him or herself. She sounds pretty worried, he thinks. That's what makes him start to decide that maybe this isn't hell after all. The emotion in her voice sounds too raw and real for some cold afterlife echo.

"Clarke?" He croaks out, opening his eyes.

"You're OK." She says once more for good measure.

He manages to meet her gaze, frowns slightly. She sounded like Clarke, just now, but she doesn't look much like Clarke. Her hair is long and reddish-brown, and her eyes are cold and sad with none of the fire he remembers back at the dropship.

She also looks worried sick.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, pain making him brusque.

"Taking care of you." She says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You messed up your leg pretty bad. What were you doing out there, on your own in the snow?"

 _Trying to forget about you_ would be the obvious answer, but he has a feeling it's not in his best interests to say that right now.

"Hunting." He says robustly.

She isn't impressed. She's frowning deeply. But she's also stroking a tender hand over his hair, which is a surprising development. She's never done anything like that before.

"Hunting on your own is stupid, and the Bellamy Blake I know isn't stupid." She tells him gently.

He tries to shrug, but somehow even shrugging his shoulders sends a jolt of pain through his injured leg. He groans again.

"I know it hurts." She tells him, wearing that sad smile of hers. He'd like to find out whether she has a happy smile one day, he thinks.

No. That thought has no place here. It doesn't matter whether she has a happy smile, because she _left_ him.

He groans a bit more. He knows he's being pretty pathetic, but it really is painful, in his defence. And besides which, he's not sure he'll ever get many other chances to have Clarke make a fuss of him like this.

She keeps stroking his hair. And with her other hand, somehow, she seems to be clasping his fingers, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles.

"You're going to be OK, Bellamy. I promise. God, you scared me so much." She gives a nervous laugh. "I just heard this cry and thought _that sounds like Bellamy_. Good job I came to check it out, huh?"

He nods weakly. He has a feeling he used to despise weakness as a concept, but if weakness brings Clarke back into his life and makes her hold his hand it might not be all bad.

No. Another rogue thought. She left him. He must remember that.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything to give you for the pain. I'll go look for some herbs when it starts to thaw. But I've stitched you up and we've got meat, thanks to that boar you killed. We can hide out in here until the snow passes." She explains.

At that, he has a go at looking around him. They seem to be in some sort of cave, and there's a small fire burning a little way away. He can smell roasting meat, now he comes to think about it, and when he eases slightly up onto his elbows he can see that she's covered him with some sort of animal skin from the waist down.

"Lie down again." She chastises him gently.

He does as she asks. It's kind of lovely, having Clarke make a fuss of him like this. And he knows he shouldn't find it lovely – knows that she _left_ him – but he's always rather liked that softer side that she so often has to keep hidden during her cutthroat day job as leader.

"You stitched me up?" He checks, trying to process what she just said.

"Yeah. Had to cut away your clothes – sorry. But you get the panther pelt." She gestures at the thick black fur.

"This is a panther?" He can see that it is, now that she's said it. But where the hell did she get a panther pelt?

"Yeah." She swallows, looks away. "You're not the only one who hunts alone these days."

He lets that comment sit for a moment, concentrates on the feel of Clarke's thumb rubbing over his knuckles, her hand stroking his hair. Why is it that he has to be half-dead before she takes care of him like this? Why couldn't she show him the same consideration when his heart was breaking at the gates of Camp Jaha?

"You want something to eat?" She asks, after a moment.

He considers that. He doesn't know if he's ready for food.

"Just try a little bit." She wheedles. "It'll keep your strength up."

He nods. Again that one small motion somehow jostles all the way to his leg. Again he groans.

"You need to learn to lie still." She chastises him, as she leaves his hand and his hair so she can head to get the food.

"I'm not good at _still_." He moans.

She grins. "I know. You'll be back on your feet soon enough. Here – the most hard-won boar in human history."

He laughs slightly at that, but then regrets it when the shaking in his core upsets his wound all over again. Huh. He really does need to learn to lie still. Clarke has an annoying habit of being right – he remembers that about her.

He chews carefully on his small piece of roasted boar in silence – partly because he's exhausted, and partly because he doesn't know what to say. Where should he start, after all these weeks apart? After he convinced himself she wasn't coming back for him, and he was a delusional fool for holding onto the tiniest shred of faith?

He's spent a whole lifetime coming to terms with the fact that miracles don't happen to him. But Clarke's just turned all that on its head.

"I'm so glad you're OK." She whispers as he eats. "I've been wondering about you a lot."

"If you were wondering that much you could have come home and asked me." He bites out, harsh.

"I couldn't. I'm sorry, Bellamy. I honestly couldn't come home. I wouldn't have left if I could see another way."

He lets that go. He supposes she might be right – that she might have had to go with much the same desperation as he felt when he knew he had to stow away on the dropship and follow his sister. He can see that sometimes things simply have to be done for the sake of one's sanity.

But it _hurts_ , damn it. It hurts far more than this gouge in his leg.

"I've missed you." He mutters. If he's not going to say it now, in a cave in the snow alone with Clarke, dizzy and weak from blood loss and half-delirious with pain, when is he going to let himself say it?

"I've missed you too. So much." There she goes again, smiling that sad smile.

Silence falls. He lets it. He chews carefully, watches Clarke watch over him. Her stare is intense but warm, now, just like he remembers it.

She's not stroking his hair, though, and he misses that.

"Get some rest." She whispers, when he's done eating.

He makes an agreeing sort of noise. Rest does sound good. In fact, he's struggling to keep his eyes open. But he's frightened of closing his eyes. He's scared that if he falls asleep, all this will go away, will turn out to be some kind of fever dream.

He's scared he'll wake up without Clarke. He's had to do that every day for the last six weeks, and he doesn't much fancy doing it again.

"Will you stay?" He asks, in a small voice that he knows is pathetic.

"Of course I will." She says, as if she doesn't have an horrendous track record of leaving.

But there's something in her tone that tells him it's the truth, this time. Something like warmth, and light, and hope.

…...

Clarke isn't stroking his hair, the next time he wakes up. No – it's better than that. She's curled beneath the panther pelt with him, her bare legs intertwined with his one good leg, her head nestled on his chest.

It feels so good he can hardly breathe.

He just lies there for a few minutes and soaks it up. His leg seems to be hurting less now, or maybe it's only that he's so damn happy to be holding Clarke close that he cannot feel the pain. He's been waiting weeks for a Clarke hug, but this is more than he ever dared dream of.

This feels a lot like a miracle. It can't be, of course, because he doesn't believe in miracles. But if he did – not that he does – but if he did, he thinks this might just count as one.

Clarke wakes up eventually. Bellamy's almost sorry about that, because he presumes she'll pull away when she realises where she is.

But she doesn't. Not at all. If anything, she snuggles closer.

"I hope this is OK. Even with the fire it's sensible for us to share body heat." She says lightly.

"Yeah. Sure. I'm never one to complain about sharing my bed." He tries for that teasing tone he used to take with her at the dropship but doesn't entirely succeed. He blames his leg for that, or possibly her disconcerting nearness.

She snorts, unimpressed, but doesn't pull away.

"What are we going to do while we wait for the snow to stop?" She asks.

He smirks slightly. He can't help it. He can think of a thing or two he'd love to do in a cave with Clarke in the snow, if she was game and his leg wasn't killing him. But he supposes that's not what she has in mind.

"I guess we're going to eat boar meat." He jokes, somewhat feebly.

She laughs. She's still nestled against his chest, so the sound of her laughter vibrates through him. But it doesn't get to his leg so much, this time, so he wonders if maybe he really is doing better. Or maybe he's just delighted to hear her laugh at his weak joke.

"You want to tell me what it's been like back at camp?" She asks him softly.

He hesitates. He does want to tell her – or at least, _half_ of him does. The other half is still pretty angry with her for leaving.

Whatever. He might as well make a start. He can always stop if he feels his frustration getting stirred up by the conversation.

"Honestly? It's kind of strange watching normal life start to unfold. People are doing jobs and they've set up a school for the kids. And it's like I'm on the outside and I don't feel like I can be part of that. After everything at the dropship and Mount Weather I can't just move on and join in their normal life. It's like they're trying to rebuild Ark society on the ground and I can't do that."

"I get that." She says, soothing, stroking a hand over his chest. "I guess that's part of why I needed to leave, aside from what – what we had to do. I just couldn't see a future for myself there."

"I still can't see a future for myself there. But that's where I am." He says, sour. Except it's not quite true, of course – right now, he's in a cave with Clarke, which feels much more like his natural territory.

"Where can you see yourself?" She asks.

He jumps slightly, jostles his leg a little after all. Can she still half-read his mind, the way she always used to?

He tries for a slither of honesty.

"Somewhere like this." He hedges.

"What, living in a cave your whole life? Don't you at least want to build a proper cabin to keep the winter out?" She asks, ever the practical one.

He laughs gently. "I didn't mean literally in a cave. I meant – living properly in the woods, not some _new Ark_ like they're trying to build in their compound. And living with people like you who know what it's really like. Who've been through everything alongside me." He says _people like you_ , but he simply means _you_. "It feels like they're trying to make it too... clean. Too easy. Like they want to forget the experiences that we had along the way."

"I thought I wanted to forget everything when I left." She muses.

"How's that working out for you?"

"It's not. You're right – it's not about forgetting everything. It's about learning to live with it."

He hums in agreement. That went better than expected, he thinks. That seemed like him and Clarke understanding each other, supporting each other how he remembers from before she left him.

"I'm still taking you home when the snow melts." She tells him softly. "I get it if you don't want to stay there long term, but I want to get you to a proper med bay when you can hobble out of here."

"You're taking me home?" He echoes. "You're coming back with me?"

There's a beat of silence. He wonders whether he's scared her off. He tightens his arm around her, just a fraction, in reassurance.

"Yes." She says simply.

"That's good." He says lightly.

"I might not stay. I might go again." She babbles, flustered. "I don't want you to think I'm going to be there forever. I don't want you to hate me if I have to go again. But you're right – I don't want to live somewhere like that forever either."

"We could both leave." He suggests, even though he knows what her answer will be.

Sure enough, she doesn't like that idea. "We can't. Someone has to stay for the kids – _our_ kids. We have to -"

"And why does that person have to be me, Clarke?" He bites out, angry. "I get that you had to leave. I'm trying to respect that. But I don't get why I have to stay there miserable and alone and -"

"You're not alone." She points out, growing stiff in his arms.

"I felt alone. I didn't have you." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, sitting heavy in the air between them.

Clarke pulls away from his embrace. He supposes that was inevitable, once he went and said that. He lets her go, tries not to stare too closely at her bare legs as she goes to tend the fire.

"Clarke -"

"No. You're right. I was being selfish."

He snorts. "I wasn't saying that. You're the least selfish person I know. I'm just saying – I don't think you realised how badly I was struggling, too."

She frowns. She doesn't answer, but she hands him another morsel of cold roast boar. He chews on it for a while, waits to see if she has anything more to say.

"I don't know what to do." She admits at last, voice scarcely above a whisper. "I don't know what the answer is. I miss feeling like I had all the answers, back when I was a medical student."

He smiles softly at her, reaches out an arm in her direction. He seems to remember he was really quite annoyed with her, just a few short moments ago, but he's always had a soft spot for an upset Clarke.

"Come here. We can figure it out later." He offers, paying back to her that patience she lent to him beneath that tree all those months ago. "I think taking another nap is a pretty great way to pass the time while it's snowing, don't you?"

"I don't need to nap. You're just tired because of the injury." She tells him smartly.

"Clarke. Please just come here and keep me company." He allows himself to beg.

She relents. She offers him a smile that is only partly sad, forces him to eat a couple more bites of food. And then she curls back up at his side and cuddles him closely while he falls asleep once more.

…...

Hours pass and become days. Bellamy naps a lot, eats a little, and hugs Clarke a great deal. It feels surreal, honestly. Like maybe he's died and accidentally been admitted to heaven after all. Time passes strangely, as he's still feeling a bit woozy, and it all adds to the ethereal atmosphere.

"I still can't believe I found you." Clarke muses on day three. "To think you might have died out there. We were so lucky."

He makes an agreeing sound. He's pretty convinced he's never been lucky before, but these precious days recuperating and catching up with Clarke feel like almost enough to make up for a lifetime of ill fortune.

"You want some more food?" She offers, as she always does if he's not either asleep or half way through a sentence.

"You can stop making so much fuss." He says brusquely. Some of his usual robust attitude has been returning to him, as his leg heals.

"I don't think I can." She tells him, eyes on the floor. "It's my way of trying to make up for leaving."

"I forgive you." He says easily, because he's beginning to realise he always will.

She smiles that sad smile again. "Thanks. Now shut up and eat some supper."

He grins, takes the food she offers. He knows this is a cave in the middle of nowhere, but it feels more like home than Arkadia ever has.

…...

It's not until the snow starts to thaw that they seriously talk about the future.

"We might be able to head home tomorrow." Clarke suggests.

"You're still set on coming with me to med bay?" He checks.

She nods. "Yeah." A loud swallow, followed by a beat of silence.

"Clarke?" He prompts.

"I'm going to stick with you. Whatever you decide to do – stay or go." She gets the words out, visibly uncomfortable. "We could even take the forty-seven and go set up a home somewhere else. Or maybe we can petition the council to make Arkadia more like we want our home to be. Or maybe we can -"

He kisses her. He simply leans across and kisses her, ignoring the dull tug at his leg wound from the movement. He's never really interrupted anyone with a kiss before – it always seemed kind of rude. But he simply doesn't have a choice on this occasion. His utter love for Clarke is burning so bright in his veins that he's powerless to do anything else.

She's staying with him. She's staying _for_ him. She's listened to what he said about how much it hurt, thought about the fate of the kids, and come up with one of her well thought-out solutions that suits everyone.

She kisses him back, urgent and hungry. She's not stroking his hair, now, but tangling her fingers in it, angling his neck towards her so their mouths fit together better, nibbling curiously at his lower lip. It's everything he ever dreamed of when he thought of kissing Clarke, and it is more.

And the fact that it's happening at all? Simply miraculous.

She pulls away first. He's a little disappointed at that until she smiles brightly at him – the first purely happy smile he's ever seen on her face. It's genuinely _moving_ , to know that this means so much to her that it has her overcome with that kind of joy, even in the midst of snow and self-imposed exile and all these unknowns.

"I don't want to hurt your leg." She mutters, cheeks flushed.

He laughs. "We're good. I can kiss without tearing my stitches, right?"

She nods, bites her lip. "But we probably can't go... further than that."

"That could wait." He says lightly. "I feel like we've been waiting a while. But I can promise you a good time when my leg's healed." He tells her, smirking.

She laughs, swats lightly at his arm. "Did that line used to work on the girls at the dropship?" She teases.

He ignores her question, reaches in for another quick kiss instead. He could swear that kissing Clarke is addictive – now he's started, he's certain he'll never stop.

"We'll figure it out." He tells her, brimming with confidence.

"What? Sex with a gouged leg?" She asks him, frowning.

He grins. "That, too. No – I meant what we're going to do. Arkadia or – or the unknown."

She nods. "Yeah. I know we will. We've never yet found a problem you and I can't solve."

He's not so sure that's literally true. He seems to remember plenty of things went wrong at the dropship or Mount Weather, even if they did mostly turn out OK in the end. But he senses that saying that right now wouldn't help. And anyway – literal truth doesn't seem to be the point, here. For once in her life, Clarke doesn't seem to be talking about the practicalities so much as the possibilities. Things like warmth, and light, and hope.

She initiates the kiss this time. That makes it even better, somehow – that Clarke Griffin, the woman who left him, who runs from her emotions, is staking a claim to his lips and a place in his life.

In fact, he thinks, it might just be a Christmas miracle.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
